


memory blues

by rvnkings



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comics 1998), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Backstory, Bad Decisions, Dark Magic, Multi, Oxford, Punk Rock, Unhealthy Relationships, an alarmingly small amount of vampires, an exploration of giles's origin story, but we love him, giles is a mess, including (but not limited to):
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25005760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rvnkings/pseuds/rvnkings
Summary: Rupert Giles is nineteen years old, and he knows nothing about being normal.Or: an exploration of Giles's journey to becoming a Watcher, including a brief time at Oxford, Ethan Rayne and his posse of merry men, some joyriding, the nickname 'Ripper', a punk band, and a somewhat happy ending (depending on who you ask).
Relationships: Rupert Giles/Olivia, Rupert Giles/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 6





	1. Before

His grandmother used to sit him up on the countertop, next to the fresh bakery rolls and the jars of spices, and teach him how to sing. 

She would put on a vinyl, something slow and easy like Fitzgerald or Sinatra. Days when it was just the two of them, because the men of the house were out doing something important, and he was left with her. 

What they didn’t know was that Edna Fairweather was the most important thing. 

She would always laugh when he told her this, and then give him a caramel. She always had sweets in her pockets. She usually had knives in her pockets too, but those were kept out of the kitchen. 

“You are more important than you can possibly imagine,” she told him, fixing the bowtie his father made him wear because it suited his ‘position’. Rupert wasn’t sure what his position was, only that it was similar to what made his father leave all the time, and what made his grandmother get hurt sometimes. 

“I don’t want to be important,” he told her.

What people didn’t know about Edna was that she was secretly soft. She had layers, like a cinnamon roll. And when Rupert said things like this, her eyes would always crinkle in the corners, sugary and sweet and just for him.

“I know you don’t, sweetie.”

She reached over and turned up the music, took his hands, and taught him how to dance too. 

_________

He dreamed in color. 

Sometimes, he was up in the sky, wearing a fancy coat with golden buttons. He flew his very own plane, and he knew what all the switches did, and nothing scared him. He could save people but on his own terms, when the mood struck. He had a _swagger_ to him. Edna used to say that, whenever he said something uncommonly rude to his father. 

That was his favourite version of himself. 

Sometimes, he was a baker in his grandfather’s old shop, the one he had distant memories of but had to make up some of the details. He baked bread in the morning, and pretzels in the afternoon. He’d never had a pretzel before, but sometimes he passed a street vendor on the way to school, and they looked delicious. In his dreams, he was the master of pastries, because Edna said they were the hardest thing to learn, but he was _smart_.

He was so damn smart, and the only thing that he needed to learn was how to properly fold pastry dough, because no one needed saving. 

Sometimes, he was be a florist. He'd met a florist once, at his grandfather’s funeral. She was funny, and she gave him a flower, and then a hug. She smelled like roses. She had the nicest smile. And when he was a florist, he would know all of the flowers’ names, and he would know how to take care of them. He would have a quiet shop, and he could give Edna the biggest bouquets for her birthday. 

He was _gentle_ , and smart, and fierce, and the only thing that needed his attention were his flowers. 

_________

Every Christmas, his aunts would visit. 

They always showed up in these lovely coats and with curled hair and bright smiles and Edna would roll her eyes. 

“Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing,” they said to him. They pinched his cheeks a lot, but it was alright because they brought gifts and smiles and _life_. 

Whenever they showed up to their house, the rooms became smaller. 

“We’ll have to go to the Christmas market first, and then pick out a tree to be delivered,” Aunt Livie said. 

“And then we’ll swing around to Joe’s and grab some hot chocolate, for a treat,” Aunt Sophie said. She was buttoning up his coat, the one with the nice cuffs. They were taking him out _on the town_ , because apparently he was too _sheltered_ , and did anyone ever feed him? 

Edna was watching from the couch, a glass of brandy in her hands. She hardly ever drank, but her sisters made her thirsty. Rupert’s father was somewhere upstairs, on the phone with someone important. 

“Don’t take him anywhere dangerous,” Edna said. 

His aunts turned around and glared at her. 

“The only thing dangerous in his life is _you_. And the devil upstairs,” Aunt Sophie said. Then she took Rupert’s hand and dragged him out the door. 

It was snowing outside, and they were the most colourful people on the street. Aunt Livie had red hair and red lips and wicked eyes the color of the sky. Aunt Sophie had blond hair and purple lips and eyes the color of nighttime. Snowflakes fell into their hair and he looked up at them, trying to keep up with their chatter. 

They taught him how to catch snowflakes on his tongue. They let him pick out a caramel apple, and then another one to bring home to Edna. They took him to a maze full of Christmas trees and let him choose his favourite one. 

His aunts were the most magical women he’d ever met. 

When they brought him back to the house, Edna was still on the couch. She eyed the half-eaten candy in his hands, the shopping bags his aunts were carrying. 

“Your father had to go away for awhile,” Edna said. “He may miss Christmas.”

“You’re staying though, right?” He had to ask.

Edna smiled at him, and her eyes went all crinkly in the corners. _Soft_. 

“Of course, sweets.”

___________

Once, his father sat him down and told him about destiny. 

It was his tenth birthday. 

Edna made him a cake, the chocolate kind with raspberries on top, even though his father said that desserts and fruit should never mix. His aunts sent him a card that sang his favourite song when he opened it. His father rolled his eyes at the Drifters, because they were jazzy and cool and nothing like him. Edna immediately jumped up and started twirling, so it made things better. 

By the end of the night, Rupert was flushed with happiness and the few sips of wine that Edna had allowed. His father tucked him into bed and then perched on the end of the mattress, two things he rarely ever did. 

“Do you believe in magic, son?”

Rupert thought about his aunts, and their strange gifts, and their glowing smiles. He thought about Edna’s record player that could play any song. He thought about the way his father never smiled, except when he spoke about Rupert’s mother. 

“I think so.”

“Have you ever heard of vampires?”

Rupert had not. 

His father told him about them. And about death. And about fate, which was something Rupert would learn to hate. When his father first explained these things they were a bedtime story, because he knew he would wake up the next day just like he always did. These things were far away problems. Grown-up-Rupert problems. 

His father said that one day, he would be powerful like Edna. 

Rupert didn’t believe him for a second. 

___________

The librarian at his school was a gentle lady named Mrs. O’Neil. 

She had round glasses and a round stomach and she always smelled like nutmeg. Rupert didn’t know how to make friends who weren’t introduced to him through his family, but Mrs. O’Neil was his friend. She let him take out as many books as he wanted, and sometimes she even let him sit behind the counter to eat his lunch. 

One afternoon, while Rupert was avoiding a boy who was making fun of him for being quiet, Mrs. O’Neil called Rupert over to her desk. 

“Rupert, honey, what’s got you so sad today?” She broke the cookie that she was eating in half and offered him a piece. 

He took the cookie. “Other kids are mean sometimes.” 

She shook her head, frowning. “I know. I don’t understand it. But some things are just the way they are, and there’s no stopping it.” 

He shrugged. “My father told me all about that destiny stuff.”

One of her eyebrows rose in a funny way. “Destiny stuff?”

“You know, the kind about being chosen. We all have our paths.”

She laughed. She had big rosy cheeks. “Now, you’re only a child. Don’t get caught up in that kind of stuff quite yet.”

“That’s what I told him.” 

She reached in front of her and grabbed a book from a tall pile. “I found a book you may be interested in. It has dragons. Lots of them.”

“I do appreciate dragons.” 

“Goodness, I know you do. Maybe that’s your destiny, hm?” She placed the book in his hands. “Dragon keeper. How does that sound?”

He ran a hand down the cover. “Sounds lovely.”

____________

The end of the world happened on a Monday. 

His aunts were visiting, and they were happy.

Rupert had never seen a demon, before that day. 

He didn’t know what they were supposed to look like. He didn’t even recognize it when it was right in front of him. The only reason he knew to act was because his aunts were screaming, and they were never afraid. They weren’t supposed to be afraid. 

What kind of Watcher doesn’t see a demon, even if it’s right under their nose?

The kind that knows how to kill one, apparently. And Rupert did. He didn’t think he could kill, but he could. He did it well. 

His father liked to talk about destiny. Rupert heard a lot about it that day, and the long days that followed. 

____________

Charlotte Locke was a nice girl. 

She had red hair that shone coppery in the fluorescent lights of the classroom. She laughed at jokes that she made herself. She knew how to speak to teachers to make them like her, and she made sure that everyone liked Rupert as much as she did. 

She was the first friend that Rupert ever made on his own, other than Mrs. O'Neil. In his first letter home, he made sure to include her name, because he could. 

She invited him to the winter formal, and he said yes. 

He wore a new suit that he’d brought to the Academy upon his father’s request, and the brown tweed made him feel like an adult. Charlotte wore a dark blue dress that made her look like the prettiest girl Rupert had ever seen. Her shoes made her taller than him.

She told him that he was handsome, and then she stole his glasses and put them on before he could stutter too much. She was always laughing. She looked pretty in his glasses and he told her as much. She blushed a lot, too. 

They danced and danced and they ignored the Watchers standing on the outskirts, their exams, their parents, _fucking destiny._ They danced and they forgot that they would be sent out on their first mission soon. They danced. 

Charlotte kissed him on the mouth in the dark, against a poplar tree in the first quad. 

“Giles, I’m so glad I met you,” she said into his cheek. 

____________

When Rupert was eighteen, he learned about death. 

He’d been looking for a vampire. 

He knew what a stake felt like in his hands, and he was pretty sure how to use it. 

He had Charlotte at his back, like he’d grown accustomed to in his training. He was ready. 

_What kind of Watcher can’t see a demon, even if it’s right under their nose?_

_What kind what kind what kind-_

The demon was in his head. 

He used to dream of flying. 

Charlotte died first. The demon made sure that the sound of her screams replayed in his head over and over and over because this was about innocence lost this was about killing and blood and monsters and-

_What kind?_

_____________

His father was the first one on the scene. Rupert wasn’t sure how long he was alone, after everything had ended. 

His father wrapped him in his arms and Charlotte’s blood covered them both. Rupert was still screaming. He only knew because his throat hurt. 

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” his father kept saying. The other Watchers were taking away the bodies. The demon has escaped. 

“I didn’t know. I couldn’t tell,” Rupert told him. His voice didn’t sound right. Nothing was right.

“No one saw this coming, son. There’s nothing you could have done.”

“ _I_ _’m ruined,_ ” Rupert whispered into his father’s chest. 

“You’re okay.”

____________

His grandmother used to tell him a story about a young girl who learned how to kill vampires. 

She'd tuck him into his heavy quilt and sit on the edge of his bed. He always asked for the same story, because he knew how it ended, and he didn’t like surprises. She'd smile at him and brush his hair off his forehead. Her voice was so soft on those nights, like she knew that he needed to hear the happy ending to know that he might have his own.

The best part of the story wasn't the hero. 

Instead, it was the Watcher named Mary who was never trained properly but she knew how to do her job because she was a _natural_. She had powers unlike anything anyone had ever seen. When the slayer forgot her stake, Mary knew how to kill demons with her bare hands. When a monster arrived and there weren’t any books to guide the way, Mary could invent new methods to get rid of it. When everyone wanted to give up, Mary knew the right words to say to get everyone back into the fight. She was the smartest Watcher around, and everyone loved her for it. 

Rupert wanted to be her. 

His grandmother told him he would be, and Rupert never had the words to explain why she was wrong.


	2. 1973.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring the oxford library, new friends, rock concerts, nightmares and secrets. 
> 
> cw: drug/alcohol use

Rupert Giles is nineteen years old, and he knows nothing about being normal. 

He’s in the history program at Oxford, because when he was struggling to apply, it sounded like something a normal person might aspire to do. He doesn’t know much about history, or at least the kind without magic; it might be something useful to know, when pursuing a normal life. 

He wears normal button down shirts and normal slacks and normal loafers. He slicks his hair back like he sees the other boys do, and it makes him look stylish, but not overly so. 

He doesn’t smoke, but if he’s offered a cigarette, he won’t refuse. 

He doesn’t drink, but if he’s offered a whiskey, he won’t say no. 

He doesn’t sleep, but he makes sure no one can tell. 

He hasn’t spoken to his family in over three months, but he knows they still exist because his tuition is paid for and every month in the mail he gets a hefty enough cheque to cover food costs. Sometimes, he thinks about writing a letter, but his pen never touches the paper. 

He spends a lot of time in the library, because it’s warm there, and quiet. Nothing truly bad could happen in a library. The tables are a deep mahogany. The shelves are always polished but the books are dusty and ancient. The ceiling is so beautiful that he’s always tempted to look up and admire it. He used to look up all the time. 

He used to dream of flying. 

__________

His roommate is a strange boy named Thomas who exclusively listens to David Bowie and the Velvet Underground. 

He wears his jeans real tight and his shirt real loose. He has a smile like a secret. His eyes are always half-closed, like he’s either on something good or he just woke up.

“Giles, man. Listen to this one,” he says. Giles is at his desk, trying to read about the Crusades. Thomas is in his bed, head on the pillow, eyes closed. He’s been like this since Giles came back from class. 

“It sounds like the last one.”

“Nah, you gotta _listen_.”

Giles puts his pen down and tries to do as asked. Guitars are sort of smashing together in the way that guitars do. Drums are… there. 

“What am I listening for, exactly?”

Thomas laughs and throws a pillow at him. “The way everything dances together. It’s fucking magic, man.” 

Giles pauses. Takes a breath. He fucking hates that word. 

“What would you know know about magic?”

Thomas looks over at him. His hair is a mess, but it suits him. “More than you, apparently.” He pats his bed. “Come over.”

Giles hesitates, but only for a second. He sits on the edge, but Thomas pulls him by the arm until they’re lying side by side. 

“Close your eyes,” Thomas says. His voice is right in Giles’s ear. 

“I don’t see what that’s going to do.”

“Just do it, old man.”

Giles closes his eyes. Thomas turns up the music. 

“This one’s my favourite,” he says. 

It’s sort of sad. It’s slow, both also fierce, and reminds him of the rock music Edna would play on her angry days. He doesn’t let himself think about her often, but when he does, it catches him off guard. He misses her. 

A tear slips down his cheek.

Thomas laughs. “Now you’re getting it.”

__________

Olivia May is a nice girl. 

She sits next to Giles in Intro to Medieval Literature, and snickers every time their professor reads Chaucer in an Anglo-Saxon accent. She has dimples. They’re quaint. Sort of like the little creases in fresh sourdough. 

Giles used to think he knew how to make friends, but that was when everyone he met already knew his secrets. When he would shake hands with a person, and it would be a shake of equal fear and acceptance. It would be a _hello, we’re both destined for some bullshit, aren’t we?_ It would be a _nice to meet you, but vampires, right?_

At Oxford, nobody knows about magic. 

They say they do, but it’s in between pages, in a math equation on the chalk board, a safe imaginary world where nobody dies. Olivia May probably thinks that Sundays are magic, because it’s when she can meet God. She wears a little cross necklace and it perches on her collarbones all delicate. He knows exactly what kind of monsters would look at her and see a meal.

Giles used to think he knew how to make friends, but this is why he can’t: he sees a silver necklace and he thinks of blood. He sees a nice girl, and he imagines her dead. 

Which is why he’s so surprised when she speaks to him, two weeks into the first semester. 

“Olivia May,” she says to him, sticking out her hand. Her nails are painted red. 

“Rupert Giles,” he responds. He shakes her hand and she smiles at him. It’s the end of class, but they’re still at their desks, because Giles is frozen and apparently she wants to speak to him.

“Your notes are meticulous. You seem like the right kind of person to befriend,” she says. 

“I can assure you that I’m not.”

“How about you tell me all about it over lunch tomorrow?”

“All about what?”

“Whatever your sad little face is doing,” she laughs. Dimples. “And also some tips on where to find nice tweed,” she pinches the fabric of his sleeve.

“Okay,” he manages. 

She takes him to a small cafe off campus. It smells like good coffee and cinnamon. The floors are dirty but the windows are clean, and college students fill the entire space. 

“I know the look of this place does nothing for the stomach, but I swear the espresso is to die for,” she says. She orders for him, and he secures a table at the back. He tries to brush off some of the crumbs from the surface, and piles the leftovers cups on the empty counter next to him.

The espresso is to die for. 

“Favourite book?”

“The Iliad.”

“Weirdo. Favorite band?”

“The Drifters.”

She laughs. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he says, taking a sip.

“You need to get out of whatever decade you’re trapped in. There’s a concert on Saturday, come with me.”

“Okay.” 

__________

Olivia May is a nice girl. She wears cardigans and pins back her hair and is never without her sophisticated wristwatch. 

Giles never wants her to meet Thomas, but of course she does. 

She’s waiting outside of their dormitory on the night of the concert when Giles and Thomas get back from the dining hall. She waves and smiles, and Thomas whistles. 

“Is that fine lady waving at _you_?” 

“Is that so surprising?”

“I’m gonna be frank with you, my friend. Yes.”

“I get haircuts from an actual hairdresser. And I shower regularly. I wash my clothing. I don’t see why you would have more appeal than me,” Giles says. 

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Not in front of Olivia.”

“Man, you are far _out_ tonight,” Thomas laughs, punching Giles in the arm. 

“Hello, gentlemen,” Olivia says when they approach her. 

“I hear you’re trying to introduce Giles to the finer side of music,” Thomas says, reaching out to shake her hand. “We are partners in that particular venture.”

“Oh really? And what sort of things have you been teaching him?”

“Only the best.”

Giles rolls his eyes. “The kind of things that pair best with whiskey. Are you ready?”

“Why don’t we invite your friend here? He seems to have a passion for it,” Olivia says, taking her hand back from where Thomas had been holding it captive. 

Thomas grins. “I think that’s a wonderful plan, miss.”

“Don’t call her miss,” Giles says to Thomas. He turns to Olivia. “You don’t want to associate with his kind. They’re all trouble.”

“Sounds fun,” she says with a wink. 

The concert is held in a tiny hall right off campus. It’s the kind of building that you cross the street to avoid in daylight, but looks like a nice joint when the shadows hide the grime. Olivia’s pleated skirt and ballet flats stand out amongst the rest of the crowd, but she smiles like she doesn’t notice. 

Thomas won’t stop looking at her. 

“She brought us to a _Cream_ concert. Looking like that. I thought this was going to be a bore.”

“I can hear you,” she says. 

“I know, miss. I know.”

Olivia keeps on looking over at Giles, as if to make sure he’s not about to faint. She even takes his hand. 

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t need moral support. I’ve faced worse than a couple of kids on L and beer on my shoes.”

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand.”

Oh. 

The music is loud and Giles can feel the vibrations of the bass up his legs and it’s completely wonderful. 

__________

Olivia finds a way to sweet talk the front desk of Giles’s dormitory so that she can visit his room. 

“As long as I don’t leave looking too disheveled, then we’ll be fine,” she says, taking a seat at his desk. 

Thomas looks up from his bed. “I can make sure Giles doesn’t do anything untoward.”

“Thank you, Thomas.” 

They smuggle food from the cafeteria and eat dinner on his floor, listening to Thomas’s vinyls. He has some old stuff that makes Giles think of Sundays at home with Edna, and he requests them as much as they’ll let him. They’ve banned Bobby Darin, but he learns to live with that. 

Olivia does her homework on his bed, because she can’t stand her roommate and says that his room smells nicer. Giles doesn’t believe that last part, but he’s met her roommate, and the former holds pretty true. 

Giles still isn’t sure how to make friends, but he has two of them now. They wouldn’t leave him even if he asked. 

“Where you going for Christmas?” Olivia asks him at the end of November. They’re in the library, holed up in a back corner where the librarian can’t hear them. 

“I’m staying here,” he says. He takes a book from the stack he has piled in front of him and begins his search for a religious symbol that has to do with old Pagan rituals. Or something. He hasn’t really worked out his thesis yet. 

“No you’re not,” she says. It’s either a question or a statement, Giles can’t tell. 

“Yes?”

“What about your family?”

He hasn’t told her anything about his family. Giles knows that Thomas’s parents live in Derbyshire and are downright bastards. He knows that Olivia’s mother lives in London, and her father lives in South Korea, but they aren’t divorced. They just don’t like living together, or something. He’s even met Olivia’s younger brother, who goes to grammar school close to them. 

“Did they hurt you?” she whispers. 

“What? No.”

“Are they drunks? Your mother a criminal, maybe?”

“My mother’s dead.”

She pulls back and frowns. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine. It happened a long time ago.” 

She takes his hand. “Come stay with me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you can, Giles. And you will.”

He shakes his head. Because technically he _can_ go home. He has the option to be with his family. He can’t deny that choice and still have a nice time with Olivia. It doesn’t make sense. 

“The thought of you sitting right there, with your dusty books and your sad little face on Christmas day,” she’s shaking her head slowly at him. “It’s a damn shame you enjoy punishing yourself for whatever it is you can’t talk about.” 

“The library is closed on Christmas. Imagine me in my room instead.”

“You little bastard. My mother would love you.”

“I’ll send her a card.”

“You better.” 

“I’ll send you something too.”

“I’m counting on it.” She smiles sadly at him. No dimples. Just downturned eyebrows and pity. “One day you’re going to tell me your story.”

He looks back down at his book. “Perhaps.”

__________

His father calls him on Christmas Eve. 

The dorm telephone is an old thing that Giles never had a reason to use, and he has to be shown where it is by the dorm attendant, Mrs. Pots. She shakes her head at him, something women have a tendency to do, and then tucks a candy cane into his pocket before she walks away. 

He answers with a hesitant, “Hello?”

“Rupert.” 

Just that - _Rupert_. Like it hadn’t been months. Like the last time Giles had seen his father, he hadn’t been covered in blood that wasn’t his own. 

“Yes, hello.”

“Are you well?”

Giles laughs. He rests his head on the top edge of the telephone box and closes his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Enjoying your classes?”

“They’re interesting enough.”

Silence. Then, “I got it into my head that you were going to visit over your break. Edna thought so, too.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was invited.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

His father sighs. “Like any of this is my fault.” 

“Is Edna there?”

“Rupert -”

“Is she?”

His father grumbles for a second, and then there's silence. Giles waits with his eyes still closed, his hand tight around the phone. 

“Hello?”

She sounds like she always does. Maybe a little tired. 

“Hi, grandma.”

“I would’ve liked to see your face at some point this holiday. Your father is getting intolerable.”

Giles laughs. “You can’t blame me for avoiding him.”

“No, sweets,” she sighs, “I don’t blame you. For anything.”

Giles bangs his head on the box. Just a little. “I wanted to go home. I just.” She waits for him, like she always does. “I don’t know how.”

“You’ll figure it out. Lord knows you’re not the only one in this family who’s run away for a little while.”

“I miss you.”

“We miss you here as well.”

__________

Thomas has terrible friends. 

Giles has never seen any of them sober; he’s not even sure what their programs are, but they probably don’t show up to class anyways. Thomas says he met them at a show, and Giles has a good idea of what kind of show it was.

“They’re nice guys once you get to know them. Little rough around the edges, but that never hurt nobody.”

“Hm,” Olivia perks up from where she laying on Giles’s bed. “Drunk driving is a rising epidemic. I heard it on the news.”

“Oh, you heard it on the news, did you? How sophisticated.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Yeah, my new buddies are teaching me the ropes.”

“ _Guys_ ,” Giles says. They both look at him. “Thomas, your friends are dirtbags. Don’t bring them around. Olivia, your friends are entitled snobs. Don’t bring them here either. Settled?”

They both roll their eyes but nod. Giles doesn’t have any other friends. He likes it that way. 

Thomas doesn’t. 

He invites Giles out to a bar one night to supposedly see this comedian who’s _all the rage_. Giles agrees because Thomas has real convincing eyes when he wants to use them. 

He regrets it now. 

They’re all there, waiting for Giles and Thomas as they approach.

There’s Phillip, who’s always chewing gum like an asshole and who never pulls up his suspenders. He likes to laugh at bad jokes and tells them just as much, but he’s not the worst of them. 

There’s Randall, who has the blondest hair known to man but swears he doesn’t bleach it. He’s always high on something, but that just means he’s the least rowdy. Overall, he’s an idiot, but not the worst of them. 

Then there’s Ethan. 

_He’s_ the worst of them. 

“What’s up, fuckers?” Ethan yells when Giles and Thomas get to the bar. It’s a nasty place with aggressive music and sticky floors. 

“Thomas,” Giles warns. He slows down, but Thomas grabs his arm and pulls him along. 

“Just get to know them!”

“No.”

“Shut up. Yes.”

Ethan ruffs up Giles’s hair in greeting. “Giles, my man. You look like you could use a drink.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“It’s the hair. Thomas needs to teach you how to do your hair.”

“He looks like an old man. It’s sort of cute,” Randall mutters. He runs a hand down Giles’s lapel and pinches the fabric in between his fingers. “ _Soft_.”

“What did you guys give him?” Giles asks. Randall’s face is pale and his eyes are faraway. It’s unsettling. 

Ethan laughs. “Nothing that’ll kill him.”

The comedian thing was a ruse. 

Instead, there’s a grimy band whose lyrics mush together in a collective scream. Ethan forces them up to the front, and Phillips attempts to sit on Ethan’s shoulders. He manages, barely, and Giles has to keep steadying him so he doesn’t fall on the guitarist. 

Randall falls asleep on Giles’s shoulder halfway through. Giles keeps an arm around his waist so he doesn’t fall over. 

Thomas, though. Thomas looks like he’s having the best time of his life. His smiles is drunken and loose and his eyes are red and happy. 

It makes Giles sort of sick. 

They manage to get home only because Giles is sober and has a good grip. 

__________

“So. Plan Kill Ethan Rayne. How shall we go about it,” Olivia says one day at lunch. They’re in the cafeteria, which is unusual, but Giles’s room is full of assholes and he still isn’t allowed in the women’s dormitory. 

“I think the name needs to change first. A little too on the nose.” 

“Plan Eliminate the Bastard.”

Giles makes a face. 

“Plan to Keep Ethan Out of Thomas's Pants.”

“That's a little long,” he says, then pauses. "Wait, what?"

Olivia lets out a loud laugh, and the people around them glare. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I don’t get it.”

“Ethan. Likes men. Particularly, our sweet Thomas. Who also probably likes men.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, Jesus.” Olivia puts her chin in her palm and shakes her head in wonder. “You’re just adorable, you know that?”

“Olivia.”

“Thomas has wanted to hop into your bed since he first saw your mopey face. And you’ve been straight as a whip, so Ethan is a nice second.”

“He is _not_ a nice second. He is a bad second. Very bad.”

“Well yes, I agree.”

“How do you know Thomas likes me?”

Olivia takes bite of apple sauce. “He showed up at my dormitory one night, drunk. Said that you were being particularly sad and that he wanted to kiss it away,” she chuckles. “Maybe a dirtier version of that.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yes.”

They sit in silence for a moment. 

“But Ethan is a dick.”

“And you’re so nice,” she nods. 

“I think Randall likes me too. He’s always touching me. He calls me cute.”

“You’re really in it now, aren’t you?” She’s smiling. 

He rolls his eyes. “You like me too, I suppose.” 

“Ha!” She throws a pea at his head. “You wish.”

“I don’t think I’m gay,” he says. It’s the first time he’s ever said that word out loud. 

“Nice.”

“I’m not sure if I’m straight.” 

She grabs his hand. “Join the club, kid.”

_____________

His aunts visit him at the end of February.

He’s in the courtyard with Olivia, listening to her perform a dramatic reading of Othello, when they just appear. 

“Rupert!” Livie yells when she sees him. She’s wearing a fur coat and red gloves, with a red lip to match. 

“This is an undignified sitting area,” Sophie says. There’s some snow on the ground, but Olivia brought a blanket, so it isn’t all that bad. Sophie pokes the blanket with a pointed heel and a look of disgust. 

“Who are these lovely women? Where did they come from? Heaven? Are they angels?” Olivia’s saying. 

Giles just shakes his head. “These are my aunts.”

Livie gasps, “Your _aunts_? Not a very fair introduction, young man.” 

“Lavinia Fairweather. Sophronia Fairweather,” Giles points. “This is Olivia, my friend.”

“And what a pretty friends she is,” Sophie says. She takes Olivia’s left hand and shoots Giles a glare. “Unmarried yet unengaged. Hm.”

“What are you doing here?” he asks. Olivia laughs and pulls her hand back. He ignores her. 

“Edna said she hadn’t seen you in a while. Wanted someone to check up one you.”

“And she couldn’t have come herself?”

Livie sighs. “You know how busy she is with all that Watcher business. They’ve been extra busy since they lost so many - well. You know.”

“Watcher business?” Olivia asks. 

“Nothing,” they all reply. 

“Good to know you’re all the same.” 

“Lunch. We’ll get lunch and catch up,” Sophie announces. She looks around the quad as if the Ritz will appear at her request. “And bring this friend. She’s a doll.”

Olivia whispers, “ _Angels_ , Giles. Are you sure they aren’t?”

They choose a restaurant close-by, something that Olivia’s gone to with her friends. It has cloth napkins and candles, and his aunts seem to approve — which only makes Olivia blush even more.

“So _history-_ ” Livie starts, but Sophie cuts her off. 

“Have you joined any clubs? Anything that would upset your father?”  


Livie says, “Of course he hasn’t. He’s not that far into his rebellion.”

“Rupert doesn’t think it’s a rebellion, anyhow. At least not yet.” Sophie picks up the drink menu and scoffs. “Offensive wine selection.”

Olivia looks at him an mouths, “ _Rupert_?”

“I’m actually busy with work, more often than not,” he cuts in. “But I was thinking of joining a history journal next year, if they’ll have me.”

“Anyone would be lucky to have you,” Livie says, looking Olivia right in the eye. 

“God, leave her alone will you?”

Sophie's shaking her head, “Won’t become a Watcher, won’t get married, won’t join the football team.”

“Football?”

“It’s a shame. You’ve got such a handsome face.”

Olivia snorts, “Well, football would just fuck that up, wouldn’t it? His nose should be protected.” 

His aunts look at her. 

Livie says, “The _mouth_ on this one. Rupert, where did you find her?”

Sophie says, “If you think his nose is so nice, maybe you should snatch it up.”

Giles waves down the waiter. “I’ll get a scotch, thanks.”

____________

Once Olivia is dropped off at her dorm, his aunts get down to business. 

“You need to go home.”

“Not forever,” Livie assures him. “But you need to make nice with your father.”

“And see Edna,” Sophie adds. 

‘I’ll see them in the summer,” he says.

They sigh. Livie wraps him into her coat, because she’s still a foot taller than him somehow. “You can’t avoid them forever.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“You don’t need to _try_ ,” Sophie says. “Leaving isn’t about trying. It’s about forgetting. Today, it’s been nine months. Next thing you know, it’s been four years and you can’t remember your home address.”

“Maybe I want to forget.” 

“I know you do. But that doesn’t help you. This is going to bite you in the ass one day, kid.”

“Why?” 

“Because whatever you’re meant to do, it’s not this. You keep forgetting about your destiny.”

“Destiny doesn’t exist at Oxford.”

Livie smooths down his hair and hugs him tighter. “I know it doesn’t. And you know we hate it as much as you do.”

“You guys avoided it.”

Sophie joins their hug. “But you’re different, love. You’ve always been different.”

_____________

“I think I’m going to start a band,” Thomas says to him one night. 

They’re laying in the quad, without a blanket because Olivia isn’t there to harass them about grass stains. Thomas has his head in Giles’s lap and he’s squinting at the stars like he knows a single thing about constellations. 

“Can you play an instrument?”

Thomas purses his lips as if he actually has to think about it. “I could probably learn the drums.”

“And who would sing for you? Write your songs?”

“You’re the poet in this dynamic,” Thomas reaches up and pokes Giles in the cheek. “I bet you can sing, too. You’re the type.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re all… broody. You have a heavy soul in those eyes of yours.” 

Giles catches his finger and removes it from poking distance. “I’m not joining your band.”

Thomas’s lip goes into a pout. “Ethan can play the guitar.”

“All the more reason to avoid joining.”

“Sometimes he’s alright. Like when he’s really drunk. Then he gets sort of sweet.” 

“Thomas.” 

He sighs. “I know.” 

They sit in silence for bit. A group of rowdy drunks pass through the grass nearby and Thomas moves his head off of Giles’s stomach and into the grass next to him. 

“What’s that one,” he points up at the sky. 

Giles squints. “Orion.”

“Tell me about it?”

Giles does. 

___________

He goes home for Easter break. 

He packs a small bag, because he doesn’t plan to stay for the whole time. Just a few days to make things right, and then he can go back. He doesn’t even tell them that he’s going, because he doesn’t want it to become an event. 

Edna opens the door. 

He knocked because it felt strange not to, but he regrets it now. Edna keeps her hand on the doorknob and just stares at him. He adjusts the bad on his shoulder and smiles. 

“Hello.”

Her lips tighten into a thin line and she nods. Then she wraps him into a hug. 

She doesn’t let go for a very long time. 

‘Your father is out,” she says once they’ve settled on the sofa. She’s made him tea, a gentle kind with a hint of rose. 

“That’s alright. I mostly came to speak with you.”

“About?”

She’s put on a record, and the room is filling with Louis Armstrong — the way a room is supposed to. He settles deeper into the cushions and closes his eyes. 

“Fucking destiny.”

“Is that the kind of vocabulary they’re teaching you down there?’

Giles laughs. “It’s definitely part of it.”

She sighs. She looks older. He got so used to seeing her everyday that he didn’t expect her to have changed so much in the short time that he was gone. But the lines around her eyes are sad now, instead of wrinkled with laugh lines. He put those there. 

“Your aunts, they did the same as you.” She gets up to look out the window. “They left. And I don’t blame them. Nobody ever blamed them.” 

“But I’m different.”

She looks back at him. “Is it so bad that you are?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s wait for your father to have this conversation. How about some strudels? Haven’t made those in a while,” she says, already walking into the kitchen.

He tries to sit on the counter, but she shoots him a glare and waves a dish rag at him. “You’re not a child anymore.”

“If only.”

“Oh, hush,” she opens the door of the fridge and puts a hand on her hip. “We’ll need more butter if we’re going to do this properly.” 

“I can go out,” Giles offers. 

Edna hums and walks up to him. Puts a hand on his cheek. “I’ve missed seeing you around here.”

Giles swallows around the lump that’s formed in his throat. “I’ll try and visit more often.” 

She nods, but her eyes are calculating. She seems to come to a decision, because she pulls away and smiles. “I’ll grab my coat. We can both go out to the store.”

______________

His father brings a Watcher home. 

“Oh, Lord,” Edna mutters when they walk through the door. 

His father doesn’t look shocked to see him. “Rupert,” he smiles, extending a hand. They haven’t hugged since Giles was a child, and even then it was sparse. 

“Father,” he responds. The Watcher remains in the doorway, looking uncomfortable. He’s wearing a black coat and a black tie and his hair is slicked down to his scalp. He looks at Giles right in the eye and he doesn’t look away. 

“Who’s this?” Giles asks. 

“Watcher Brown. Meet my son,” his father says, hanging up his coat and then gesturing for Watcher Brown to do the same. 

“Rupert, nice to meet you. Your father’s told me a lot about you,” the man says. He doesn’t reach out a hand. Giles doesn’t offer one either. 

Edna has disappeared into the living room. Giles peeks in and sees her pouring a glass of something dark and strong. He joins her. 

“Why did he bring that Watcher? Did he know I was going to be here? Did you tell him?” 

She laughs. “Slow down, kid. I know about as much as you do about all this.”

“I’ll leave. If they say a single word about me re-joining-”

“They won’t.” She takes a long sip of her drink and then sits on the couch, just as the two men walk into the living room. 

“Edna, this is-”

“Watcher Brown. It’s been a while.”

“Edna,” the Watcher says. He stands in the entryway wearily, and Edna sets him with a hard look. 

“Last time you were here, you were telling me about how you were going to keep my grandson safe.”

“Everyone,” his father cuts in, “let’s try to keep this civilized, shall we?” He walks over to the liquor cabinet and pours out two glasses of scotch. The Watcher takes a glass but doesn’t take a sip. 

“I didn’t come here for this,” Giles says. “I didn’t come here to get back into this sort of business, or to be _convinced_. I don’t want this.” 

“Calm down, son. This isn’t about business. God knows we can’t convince you of anything.”

Giles looks to Edna. She shrugs. 

The Watcher steps into the room a little further. “Rupert, I heard about what happened at the Watchers Academy. Well, it would have been impossible _not_ to hear, what with having lost so many of you-”

“Yes. It’s a damn shame. Where are you going to make up those numbers, hm?” 

The Watcher shakes his head. “It’s not about that. The whole situation shouldn’t have happened. And we want to make it right with you all-”

“Oh, the few who survived?”

“-so I’m here to give you an offer.” 

Giles laughs. “An offer. I can’t wait to hear it.”

His father says, “Giles. You’ll listen to what Watcher Brown has to say. He’s coming here out of respect.”

Edna chuckles but doesn’t say anything. 

“Alright. Let’s hear it then,” Giles takes a seat next to Edna and folds his hands in his lap. He shouldn’t have come. His bag is upstairs, still packed, and as soon as this conversation is over he’ll leave. 

Watcher Brown clears his throat. “We’ll let you finish your degree. At Oxford. It’s actually helpful, to be in history. Useful for a Watcher.”

“And once you’re done,” his father says, “you can come home, and I’ll train you here. No need to go to the Watcher’s Academy.”

Watcher Brown nods. “We can do semi-yearly tests, to make sure you’re on track. But the majority of your education can be done by your father, and Edna. They’re exceptional Watchers.”

“Once you’ve finished your training, you can become a trainer yourself,” his father adds. 

_What?_

“We’ll keep you on at the Academy, in case your…abilities are ever needed,” Watcher Brown says. “You’ll be paid, generously. And you won’t have to work in the field. You’ll have an exceptional amount of freedom.” 

Giles doesn’t even know what to say. He looks over at Edna and she frowns, but she doesn’t say anything in rebuttal to their offer. 

He laughs a little hysterically. “Freedom? This sounds like you’ve already planned my retirement track.”

“What were plans after graduation, anyways? What work is out there, for someone like you?” His father shakes his head. He looks genuinely confused. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” 

“I was going to figure it out. And it wasn’t going to have anything to do with becoming a Watcher,” Giles says. “That is _my choice_.”

“Of course it is,” Edna says. Her mouth is resigned but her eyes are apologetic. “But love, I don’t think this can be avoided. With what happened with your aunts-”

“I was _ten_. I didn’t know what I was doing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Nobody has ever shown that kind of power at such a young age. It was unnatural,” the Watcher says. 

“Then let it be unnatural. I’m not hurting anyone.” 

The Watcher sighs. “But you’re not helping anyone, either. And that’s what we were all born to do.” 

Edna hums. “When we can. We’re pretty good at making a mess of that, though.”

“No,” Giles says, standing up, “I won’t be a part of this. And don’t count on that degree, either, if you think it’s so _useful_.” 

“And where do you think you’ll go, if you turn us away? We’re all you have,” his father says. Watcher Brown is looking resigned, like he knew this would happen. Giles wants to punch him in the face. 

“You’re not all I have. Maybe you used to be, but things have changed.” 

“Oh, met some friends have you? What will they think when you stumble upon a vampire? Or God forbid, a _slayer_?”

“You act like they’re just out there, waiting for me.”

“They _are_ , son. That’s who you are. The bad will follow you until you figure out how to be the good.”

“Fuck you.”

Edna sighs, loudly. “Now, Rupert-”

“I’m leaving.” Giles runs up to his room to grab his bag, ignoring their protests. His father won’t even try to hear him. He won’t even try to _imagine_. Giles already has more blood on his hands than his father will ever have, and they want to hand him a stake? 

They don’t try to convince him to stay. 

Giles doesn’t say goodbye. 

______________

There’s a model airplane in his overnight bag.

It’s a childhood toy that he used to bring on road trips. He’d built it out of pieces of wood and craft glue with his father for Christmas one year, and he’d treasured it like nothing else. One of the wings was uneven, and the paint on the nose was chipped. 

Edna must have put it in his bag before he left. 

He closes his eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t have left. But he didn’t know what else to do. 

The things they were saying about him were too much. And they were all true. He doesn’t know why he’s trying to get a history degree. He can’t remember making that decision. It _is_ a useful degree for a Watcher; how come he never thought of that? 

The plane fits neatly into the palm of his hand. It used to be bigger. The last time he held it, he thought that he would have his own plane one day. 

Olivia’s probably still awake. 

The front desk of the women’s dormitory is run by either Esther or Janet. Both of them are dreadful, but Esther will at least tell Olivia that he’s there to visit when he asks. 

Luckily, she’s on shift tonight. 

Olivia comes down the hall wearing a matching set of plaid pyjamas and a sour look on her face. It goes away when she spots Giles. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks. She takes his hand and guides him to a quiet corner out of sight. 

“I visited my family,” he starts, but doesn’t know how to finish. Olivia seems to understand anyways. She reaches up and gently brushes a finger in between his eyebrows, where she always says his worry gathers in a little crease. 

“Where’s Thomas?”

“Out. I haven’t seen him.”

She nods, determined. “I’ll sneak you into my room.” 

“How?” 

“I’ve been watching the other girls do it. Just follow my lead.”

With some tricky manipulation that Giles can’t keep up with, they manage to get into her room. Her roommate isn’t there, apparently having went home already for the break. Olivia is leaving tomorrow. 

He stands awkwardly in the doorway, unsure. The room is overwhelmingly different than his, and he’s not sure where he’s allowed to look. 

Olivia huffs. “Get over it. Come sit down.” She pats the spot beside her on the bed. 

He sits down. 

She wraps an arm around his shoulders and tucks his head into her neck. He’s never been so aggressively manipulated into a hug. 

“Want to talk about it?” 

He shakes his head. Closes his eyes. Her dorm is really quiet. 

“Alright. Me and my ears will just be waiting here, in case you do.” 

He nods. She hugs him tighter.

_______________

On a dull Wednesday night, Thomas drags Giles out to a club.  He wouldn’t specify what sort of club they were going to, but he made sure that Giles wore something acceptable. This meant a white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, sinfully tight black jeans — borrowed from Thomas — and sneakers that had somehow become part of Giles’s wardrobe without his permission.

"You look like sex,” Thomas said before they left.

Giles pushed him out the door. “I’ll forget you said that.”

The club is a new one. 

Cigarette smoke clogs the air, leaving the red lighting thick and opaque. There’s a band playing at the back, but they’re clearly meant to be background. People are dancing in the centre, but the space is mostly filled with tables, shadows and alcohol. 

“What is this place?” 

Thomas shrugs. “You’ll see.”

He looks like be belongs here. His curls are hanging low into his eyes, and his hands are casually tucked into his pockets. He brushes through the crowd like he knows where he’s going, and he must, because they arrive at a table quickly and efficiently. 

The whole gang is there, and Ethan is sitting on top of the table like a prince. 

“Tommy. I was afraid you wouldn’t make it tonight.” Ethan takes the cigarette that was hanging from his lips and tucks it into Thomas’s mouth. Thomas grins. 

“Bastard. You’re here early, tonight.”

“Wasn’t looking to miss the entertainment.”

Giles rolls his eyes and looks to the other boys. Randall is tucked into the corner of the booth, looking half-asleep. Phillip has a girl on his lap, and they’re kissing like they have the place to themselves. 

“You made sure Giles doesn't look like you kidnapped him. Impressive,” Ethan says, and drags Thomas closer by the belt loops. 

Thomas walks into the space between Ethan’s legs. “He didn’t even put up a fuss.”

“And now I’m here. Confused, might I add,” Giles says. He slides into the seat next to Randall, and Randall lifts up his head just to tuck into Giles’s side. 

Ethan jumps off the table and faces Giles. “I’ll get you a drink, to make you feel better about things.” He takes off towards the bar. 

Giles raises an eyebrow at Thomas, who is still standing at the end of the table. He blushes, but silently takes a seat next to Phillip. 

The girl on Phillip pulls out of the kiss. “Hello, gentlemen.” 

Thomas and Giles lift their hands in a wave. 

“I’m Julie.”

“Nice to meet you, Julie.” 

Philip laughs. His eyes are blown wide and his hair’s a wreck. “Come back,” he says, and tilts Julie’s face back towards him.

Randall lifts his head from where it’d been hiding in Giles’s chest. “Is it time?”

“Not yet,” Thomas says. 

“What’s not yet?” Giles asks. 

A tray of shots lands on the table. “The fucking magic, man,” Ethan says. 

Thomas quickly downs two shots without flinching. “This place does rituals every Wednesday. Real magic. They don’t fuck around.”

Giles shifts around the bench, looking at the crowd with new eyes. The club’s filled with other drunk college kids, no one menacing enough to perform dark magic. Still, his stomach’s gone cold. 

“Sounds dangerous.”

Ethan laughs and ruffles a hand through Giles’s hair. “That’s the point. Move over.”

Giles makes room for him. 

The lights dim except for one spot in the middle of the floor. 

“Here it comes,” Randall whispers. He’s rocking back and forth with excitement. 

A woman walks into the spotlight.

She’s wearing a dark green dress and she walks like she knows how beautiful she is. Her red lips pull back into a small smile and her eyes travel across the crowd, half analytical and half amused. Her dark skin glows under the spotlight. 

Someone hands her a microphone. 

“How are we doing tonight?”

The crowd cheers, but it’s respectful. It’s scared. Timid. 

She grins. “Now usually, I would bring a partner here to show you all my tricks. But he couldn’t make it tonight,” she spins in a slow circle. “So I’m looking for a volunteer.”

“God damn,” Phillip mutters. He’s pushed Julie off his lap and is now leaning over the top of the booth, enraptured. 

Thomas nods at Ethan. “You should volunteer.” He’s smiling but his eyes are cold, red with liquor and something else. 

Ethan smirks. 

“Now, don’t be scared,” the woman’s saying. “I promise you’ll walk out of here relatively unchanged.” She wraps the cord around her hand casually, and winks at the person in front of her. Giles doesn’t know what to think of her. She doesn’t look like a demon in disguise, but he hasn’t been trained properly. He wouldn’t know what to do if she was. 

Giles elbows Ethan. “You should go. If you’re so unafraid of a little magic.”

He laughs. “Maybe I will.”

Randall says, “I want to be put under her spell.”

Giles pats his arm. “Maybe when you’re a little more sober.” 

The women gasps. “Nobody? Really? Well, I’m sorry to say, but without a volunteer, this will be a bore of a show.” 

Ethan stands up. “I volunteer.” 

The room goes silent, more-so than it was before. Thomas is staring at Ethan with his mouth slightly ajar, eyebrows pulled down low. “ _Ethan_ ,” he whispers. 

The woman claps slowly. “Good. I knew there was at least one you brave enough to try. Come up here, young man.”

Ethan goes unhesitatingly, ignoring Thomas. He looks ghostly in the harsh light, with his pale skin and bloodshot eyes. His smile is slightly manic. 

Thomas looks like he’s going to vomit. “He’ll be alright,” Giles says to him. Thomas shakes his head and doesn’t take his eyes off Ethan. 

The woman pulls a chair from the shadows and seats Ethan down. “Who wants to speak with a ghost?” 

Hands go up, eager. Cheers ring out. 

She gets right down to business. 

The words she chants are clearly latin, and clearly memorized. A spell. Giles feels a shiver go up his arms and spine, a sign that something _not right_ is about to happen. The last time he felt it, he’d been at the Academy, right before he was sent out on his first mission. His last mission. 

“Thomas,” he warns. They should leave. But Thomas is staring at the woman with unfocused eyes, completely dazed. The other boys have similar expressions.

Ethan is totally gone. His eyes have rolled to the back of his head, and slowly, as the woman continues to chant, his arms and legs start to shiver. 

Giles grips Randall’s arm and resists to urge to run. 

“Spirits,” the woman demands, and her voice is wrong, this is _wrong_ , “rise.” 

It’s a show but it’s not, because Ethan is blinking awake but his smile is gone and he looks confused. 

She’s not a demon, but she knows what she’s doing. “Spirit, tell us your name.”

Ethan looks at the woman, “ _Julius_.” 

“Julius,” she smiles, circling around the chair, “welcome to London.” 

___________

Ethan vomits behind the club. 

“Oh God,” Randall says, pacing. Giles has never seen him so sober. “He’s possessed. He’s still Julius and he’s going to kill us.

“I am not, you idiot,” Ethan says. He straightens from where he was bent over the brick wall and fixes a hard glare on Randall. “Someone get me a drink.”

Randall disappears inside. 

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay? Should we take him to the hospital?” Thomas asks. The last question is directed at Giles; it’s clear he’s panicking. He has one hand on Ethan’s lower back and the other one is clenched at his hip to keep from shaking. 

“He’ll be fine,” Giles says, unsure. He’d never seen a summoning in person before. He’s read about them, but he isn’t sure about the semantics. Though, if Ethan is back to normal already, then things should be fairly okay. Probably. 

Phillip chuckles from where he’s been leaning against the wall a few feet away. “That Julius, though. What a _man_.” 

Julius was a witch from a few decades ago. He had some interesting stories, sure. Giles has better ones. 

“He’s still in my head. Not really, but I can still hear him. _Fuck_ ,” Ethan says. He’s pale and sweating, but a small smile is tucked into the corners of his mouth. “It was unreal. I can’t even begin to describe how it felt.”

“It was stupid. And dangerous,” Thomas says. His big brown eyes are genuine and scared. 

Giles wants to go home. 

Randall runs back into the alley carrying a beer. “Here,” he says, handing it over to Ethan. 

Ethan takes a swig. “So. Next Wednesday. Who’s gonna volunteer?”

Giles watches as Thomas looks down and shakes his head. His lips are pulled down into a frown. 

_Good_. Giles doesn’t know what he would do if Thomas started getting into stuff like this. He doesn’t know how he could stay around magic and not spill all of his secret likes a fucking gunshot to the chest.

______________

He stops getting checks in the mail. 

His tuition for his second term was paid in January, but the food bills become impossible. He knows that his father is trying to starve him into going home, and he tells Olivia as much. 

Her lip curls in disgust. “Then I guess we’re getting you a job.”

They spend an entire Saturday running around the city applying to joints of every kind. Giles wears his fanciest jacket, even though Olivia says it makes him look like a pre-mature professor. They write out his resumes in the library on nice paper. He puts on his most friendly smile even though Olivia says it makes him look like a serial killer. 

They ignore the looming fact that without his father’s money, he won’t be able to afford next year’s tuition. Or his dorm. Food is one thing; a small job at a cafe won’t get him through Oxford alone. But those are problems for a different Giles and a different Olivia. 

For a day, they have control over things. 

Thomas tells him to apply to a few of the clubs that they go to so that they can get in for free; Giles doesn’t particularly want to deal with drunks for money, but he applies anyways. Olivia brings him to her favourite cafes, and he manages to hit a few of his favourite bookstores as well. 

He’ll go anywhere that will take him, as long as the pay is good enough to help him get by. 

“You’ll be fine,” Olivia tells him on their way back to campus. 

“I know.” He tucks the extra resumes in his coat pocket, saving them in case he comes across a place looking to hire. 

“Worst case scenario, you live with me. We get a nice place somewhere, invite Thomas to keep him away from Ethan.” 

“A quaint little spot in Chelsea. Just for the three of us.”

“That’s the spirit!” 

“Better start drafting a nicely worded letter to your mother, if that’s the case. I’m afraid I won’t be of much help with finances.”

Olivia wraps a hand around his arm and pulls him close. “We’ll be okay.”

“I know.”

______________

Thomas comes in one night as half-past three crying. 

“What’s going on?” Giles careens out of bed sideways and tries to open his eyes.

“It’s all _shit,_ Giles. _Fuck,_ " Thomas slurs. He smells like beer and pot and has an ominous red stain on his shirt. 

Giles grabs his glasses and turns on the lights. Thomas is collapsed against the door nursing an empty beer bottle against his chest. 

“What’s shit?” Giles asks. He bends down and throws away the beer bottle before attempting to lift Thomas into his bed.  


“Ethan. Fucking Ethan. I just wanted him to like me, y’know? I liked him.” 

Giles manages to get him halfway onto the mattress. Thomas just sniffles and turns his head into the pillows.

“Poor decision making, if you ask me.” Giles tries to move his legs up onto the bed but he’s not being helpful. 

“Fuck. I know.” 

“What happened?”

Thomas ignores him. “And of _course_ it was Diedre. That bitch. God.”

Giles kneels down and rests his elbows on the edge of the bed. Thomas turns his head out of the pillows and looks at him. His eyes are bloodshot and far away. 

“Diedre’s not a bitch,” Thomas sighs. “She just. Exists.”

“Right,” Giles agrees. He has no idea who this Diedre girl is. 

“I thought he liked me,” Thomas whispers. 

Giles brushes stray hair out his eyes. Tears cling to his fingertips.

Thomas stares at Giles with a sort of look that Giles hasn’t seen before. His lip wobbles. “I slept with him.”

Giles sighs. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Thomas’s face crumples. “Can you lay with me?”

Giles climbs over him to settle in against the wall, and Thomas immediately curls into his side. Giles reaches down to grab the knit blanket from the end of the bed and settles it over them. 

“I punched him,” Thomas says into his shoulder. 

“Good.”

Thomas falls silent. He’s shivering, so Giles tucks him closer. He feels small. 

After long enough that Giles thinks he must have fallen asleep, Thomas says, “I can tell when you’re having a nightmare.” Giles tenses up. Thomas raises his head and looks at him. “You just — you get really restless. And sometimes you whimper.” 

Giles raises an eyebrow, because he doesn’t really know what to say. He’s not going to talk about them. 

“And well. This is what I always want to do. When you have them.” Thomas puts his head back down, close enough to Giles that he’s just about hiding his face in Giles’s neck. 

Giles doesn’t know what to say other than, “You’re a good friend.” 

Thomas laughs. He falls asleep shortly after, and Giles stays with him.

__________  


Giles dreams in color. 

There’s a room with wooden floors. A window with a crack in the top left corner. A chalkboard with faint marks, but everything’s been erased. 

There’s blood on the walls and a demon in the halls. 

Charlotte is there. Or maybe it’s Scotty. They’re running, and they’re crying, and someone’s holding his hand but the halls aren’t right anymore, gravity’s wrong-

His father is there. At least it looks like he’s there. But his voice is dark and loud and his father never yells, he wouldn’t say those things and-

Watcher Michael doesn’t have a face anymore. His eyes are red, and he’s screaming and he was supposed to _protect_ them why is nobody _protecting?_

His father tells him that he strangled his mother to death, and that he’ll kill Edna next. His voice is still wrong but his eyes are right and Giles can’t remember what’s supposed to be real. 

The hallways get longer and longer and longer—

______________

He gets a letter in June advising him to join the summer program at the Watchers Academy. 

It doesn’t have a return address, but he can assume that it was sent from his father. Maybe Edna, but she probably wouldn’t be that passive aggressive. If she wanted him home, she would have showed up at his dorm and dragged him back herself. 

For a second, he thinks about telling Olivia everything. Showing her the letter and saying, _this is what I’m running from. Help me run faster. Be there when I fall, will you?_

But secrets are impossible things. They shake the ground you walk on and laugh when you stumble. They hold a magnifying glass to your life and ask you to look closely and examine the cracks. Just hearing a whisper of one, a trickling sense that one is near, is enough to make your breath halt. 

Giles learned how to hide his secrets from other people. He was taught from a young age, and will never forget, no matter what he does to outrun them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> self-indulgence? i don't know her

**Author's Note:**

> I have taken some characters and concepts from the comics and things mentioned in the show, but nothing will be 100% canon - I have too many personal headcanons for that. The side characters are the same as canon in name only (other than Ethan) - I have essentially made them my own characters, because it's more fun that way! Inspiration for the story came from too many conversations about how Giles could have gone from "Ripper" to a librarian; I hope that some of you also share that curiosity :)


End file.
